


all these hearts are heavy burdens

by nessismore



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Empathy, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessismore/pseuds/nessismore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy has a hard enough time dealing with other peoples' emotions, so when she bumps into Steve on the street, he sends her reeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For merideath, who prompted "Darcy is an empath."
> 
> All of my knowledge of empath lore comes from _Charmed_ and wikipedia. The title is a riff on "A heart's a heavy burden" from _Howl's Moving Castle._ I thought it was fitting for Darcy.
> 
> Also, much love and much thanks to everyone who's commented and left kudos on my work. I don't say it enough, but I'm so grateful for all of it! Thank you guys for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy my stuff!
> 
> And, as always, much thanks to katertots for looking this over for me :)

Darcy realizes far too late that she should have stayed at her hotel, or taken a cab, or even had Erik come to her. Carefully, she skirts around a group of teenage girls. She’s not quite careful enough. As they pass, Darcy catches the ugly flare of jealousy, the giddiness of first love, the jangle of anxiety, the blazing heat of anger, the glacial certainty of superiority. It’s only a shadow of emotion, but it’s enough to throw off her equilibrium. There’s a slight gap in the crowd and Darcy darts toward it. She sighswith relief when the tendrils of emotion pass her by. 

It’s always this way when her emotional walls are down. She’s gotten better at controlling it, choosing when and with whom she lets herself run hot, but when she’s particularly emotional—like now—she’s open to everybody. Minimizing contact mutes it, but even just being within twelve inches of a person is enough that she gets glimpses of what they’re feeling. It’s exhausting. She’s learned to keep herself carefully contained, carefully controlled. She tries not to let herself feel anything strongly, because that’s the easiest way for emotions seep in. Most people think she doesn’t care, that she doesn’t take life seriously enough. Lord knows she hears that enough from her family, she’s heard it from ex-friends and ex-boyfriends, but they don’t know—they can’t understand—that she’s just trying to protect herself. If she doesn’t feel anything herself, it’s easier to keep her walls up. 

Right now, though, her future is stressing her out and she’s worried about Jane and Erik, and her mom had called before she left. That always ends in disaster because it seems that her mom excels in projecting emotion over the phone, and today was no different. The subject was Darcy’s lack of direction and lack of drive, and it left Darcy angry and frustrated and upset. Her mom doesn’t really understand Darcy’s hang-up with emotion and Darcy can’t explain it, or that it leaves her unable to find a career where she isn’t battered by other peoples’ feelings. It leaves them at something of a tense impasse, and it’s usually easier to just avoid taking her mom’s calls. 

It’s also easier to stay away from huge ass cities, but she’s here because Jane asked her to come and in a way, she feels like she owes her. Before Puente Antiguo, in her desperation for acceptance, she’d shown “friends” the other thing that she could do with her gift: she take on another person’s negative emotions and replace them with something good. After a while, she realized they treated her more like a drug than a friend, and she’d had to get out. Jane’s internship was perfect. The town was isolated, the scientists relatively self-contained, and she could find peace. Instead she’d found an adventure of a lifetime, and thank God Norse gods were harder to read than people, because with the issues Thor was facing, that would have led to an utter meltdown.

As it was, dealing with Jane in the aftermath was a little tough. She didn’t get sad, she got obsessive, and some days Darcy would funnel some positive emotions into her to keep Jane from burning out. At least Erik stayed steady. In any case, random shots of happy aside, Jane gave Darcy a refuge. It didn’t matter that Darcy was the only internship applicant. What mattered was that she was somewhere safe, where people didn’t know about what she did. She never thought that Jane knew what Darcy was doing until she’d gotten the call last week.

Jane, in tears, asking Darcy to come to New York City and “Help fix Erik like you fixed me.”

Jane and Erik didn’t always understand her, and half the time, they probably didn’t even like her, but she was grateful and she felt bonded to them in some way so here she is, brushing past two men in gray suits laughing merrily, shaking off the hunger of unrequited love from one and the sting of rejection. She doesn’t know these men. She doesn’t need to know their stories. When the men step around a happily strolling couple (they’re blissfully in love, thank God, and hopefully with each other—she can’t parse out specifics…she can tell that someone is in love but she can’t know who they’re in love with), she leaps towards the bookstore on her left to avoid them. It probably looks crazy, but she doesn’t care. There are all kinds of crazy in this city.

She stumbles and her shoulder jostles a man exiting the bookstore. “Oh no,” she whispers, then gasps everything he’s feeling hits her at once.

She’s bombarded with heavy spikes of fury, the overwhelming darkness of grief, the teeth of fear, the gray mist of loneliness, and the obscure haze of the lost. That, more than the impact, is what sends her reeling back. It hurts. God, it hurts. She puts pressure on her temples, but it doesn’t work. She can’t breathe; her knees buckle. The crash of her knees on the pavement is enough to pull her back to reality, and she concentrates on trying beat back the worst of it—the anger and the grief—so that she can breathe again. The man is kneeling in front of her, cupping her face and asking her questions. She doesn’t pull away; it doesn’t matter if he touches her anymore. The doorway is open and only distance will close it. She concentrates on breathing. In, out, in out, and finally she can think and tamp _his_ feelings down.

His voice finally penetrates the haze of her mind, and she looks up into worried blue eyes. He looks so handsome, so clean cut, the lines of his face so smooth and settled. He doesn’t look like the kind of man holding all of _that_ inside of him. “Miss, are you hurt?”

“No,” she says. She frowns, because her voice is much weaker than she wants it to be. Clearing her throat, she tries again. “No. Sorry.” She starts to get to her feet, but this bout with his feelings is more intense than any other she’s had and she has to sit back down.

“Do you need a hospital?” She feels concern, the most immediate and pressing emotion, edging out the harshest of his emotions, and the ache in her head eases.

“No. Silly me, I forgot to eat breakfast this morning.” The lie slips easily off her tongue. It’s one she’s told before, even if she hasn’t had to use it often. “Guess I had a little dizzy spell.”

He’s handsome. She notices that now, when before all she noticed was the flood of feelings, and she wonders what’s happened to him to make him feel so much. _Much anger I sense in him_ , she thinks, and she feels like Yoda. Maybe he’s evil. Maybe he’ll become evil. Another Yoda-ism flits into her mind. _Anger, fear, aggression; the dark side of the Force_. She shakes her head, trying to clear it, because she’s never had a trip to a galaxy far, far away before. Although if Yoda had sensed all of this guy’s anger and fear, he probably would have closed up shop if this guy asked to be trained as a Jedi, and seriously, where was all of this coming from?

The man’s lips are moving, and she realizes he’s speaking again. “There’s a deli next door. I can grab you a sandwich.” 

She appreciates the gesture, but all she wants to do is get away from this guy so that she can think her own thoughts again. “I’ll be okay. You don’t have to stay.”

If he doesn’t go, she’ll have to because as soon as the concern ebbs, she’ll probably be back on her knees. She’s ready to scramble to her feet and bolt, because she’s never met anyone with so much inside of him or felt so intensely. Her fight or flight instincts are kicking in, and they’re screaming for her to run as far and fast as she can. But she stops, because he _doesn’t_ look like an evil genius in the making, Yoda probably _would_ like him, and that snafu in college aside, she’d like to think this ability of hers has made her a pretty good judge of character. And something about him seems inherently _good_.

She’ll regret this later, she knows, because she’s meeting with Erik and dealing with his issues is going to be exhausting. But she can’t leave this guy like this. “Actually,” she says, “can you help me to my feet?”

She still feels his worry, which is sweet. He asks, “Are you okay to stand?”

When she nods, he holds his hands out to her. It’s easier with skin to skin contact, and she takes a deep breath and places her hands in his. He pulls her up, but she doesn’t let go of him. She closes her eyes and slowly draws some of the negative emotions out of him, storing them inside her, shuddering as the anger, the sadness, the pain, the fear, and she finds something else to replace it with. Hope, peace, wonder, contentment. She tries for happy, but happy hasn’t been in her stores for a long time. Emotion isn’t just something she can manufacture, and this is all she can manage right now. She doesn’t give him all of it, she needs to save some for Erik. When she pulls away, staggers under the weight of what she’s taken on, but she can see that his features are a little brighter, his shoulders less tense, and she smiles. 

Then she hurries away, careful not to brush against anyone. She can hear him shouting behind her, “Hey, what did you do?” Of course he noticed. It would be ludicrous to think anyone wouldn’t notice that drastic of a shift in emotion. Still, beneath the confusion she feels his new contentment, and it doubles back on her because she’s glad that she was able to give him some measure of peace. It’s almost enough to dissipate the dark cloud she’s taken on inside of her. She’ll consider it her good deed for the day.

And if he _was_ on his way to Super Villain-Ville, she hopes that at least for today, he’ll reconsider.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much to katertots and merideath for looking this over for me!

Before the door opens to Erik’s apartment, she takes a moment to collect herself and close down her senses. There’s no point going in hot if she can help it, but the events of her day make it impossible to close off completely.

The door opens and Jane rushes out to hug her. Darcy steps back, holding up her hands. “I can’t,” she says, and even though Jane doesn’t understand, she lets her arms drop.

“Thank you for coming,” Jane says, wringing her hands, and Darcy resists the urge to ask her to tone it down. Up close, Jane’s worry is already battering at the flimsy barrier Darcy’s created, and the intensity of it is pricking at her head. Darcy takes a step back.

“You paid for me to get out here,” Darcy says, striving for the cool calm of indifference. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and tries to strengthen her walls. “How is he?”

“He says he’s okay.”

“But obviously he isn’t.”

Jane wraps her arms around herself, looking down. “No. Come on in, he’s in the kitchen.”

Darcy follows Jane into the small apartment, taking in the sparse walls and bare tables. Other than Jane’s mess on the couch, Erik’s space is remarkably clean. Even if she couldn’t feel his suffering through the walls of the apartment, the lack of controlled chaos, the lack of any signs of science, would have been enough to tell her that something was wrong. Even from here, she can feel him. He’s projecting his feelings everywhere, and she hopes she can withstand the onslaught. She closes her eyes and tries to sort through the emotion.

Concern, different than the man on the street’s. This one radiates a sharpness that comes with desperation. Jane. The grasping claws of guilt, the swirling storm of self-loathing, the relentless undertow of hopelessness, the insidious tendrils of shame. God, it’s worse than she’d thought. For a split second, Darcy debates getting the hell out of there. He feels almost as strongly as the man on the street and it hurts almost as much. She’s poised to run, before she calms herself enough to think. If she could help a stranger, she can help a friend, so she steps back and tries to shut down. Strangely enough, it’s the thought of that stranger and the contentment she left him with that helps her center enough to build a wall with enough strength to at least block out the worst of what’s seeping through the walls. 

“Erik,” Jane says, her voice soft and coddling. It reminds Darcy of how people talk to upset children or wounded animals. She would hate that tone if it was directed at her, but she tries to remind herself that Jane is completely out of her element here and she is trying her best. And maybe this is the best way to go forward in this case. “Look who’s in New York! Darcy’s here, if you’re up for company.”

A spike of resentment cuts through the thick layer of Jane’s worry, and Darcy tries not to flinch. Okay then. Not taking _that_ approach. She steps into the kitchen and finds Erik sitting quietly at a small table, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. It’s still filled to the brim, and Darcy wonders if he’s just using it to warm his hands, or if Jane made it thinking it might make him feel better. The tea obviously isn’t helping. Everything he’s feeling comes rushing at her. His eyes are shadowed, like he hasn’t slept in days, he looks terrible, and she tells him so. 

“You look like hell.” The wave of emotion is cut by a flare of surprise, and something that’s not quite amusement but it’s as close as Erik can likely get at this point. 

“Darcy!” Jane exclaims; she looks like she’s ready to push Darcy back out the door, but Darcy gives her a look. _You called me_ , it says, and Jane knows that she doesn’t know how to handle this side of Erik on her own so she stands down.

“Jane,” Darcy responds mildly. She looks at Erik and his cup of tea, feels Jane’s emotions, and they seem heightened by Erik’s and vice versa. Darcy makes a decision. “Don’t you have some fancy new job going on?”

Jane is startled. When she opens her mouth she can almost hear Jane say, “Why are you asking about me when you’re here for Erik?” but remarkably, Jane remains quiet. 

“I remember you telling me about it over the phone,” Darcy continues. “Stark Industries. That’s a big deal. Why don’t you go in today?”

Jane shoots a glance at Erik. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Erik and I will keep each other company while you’re gone.” Darcy slips into the chair across from Erik, struggling to keep her head clear. “It’ll give us a chance to catch up.” It takes a little more convincing, but Darcy is saved from having to stomp her foot, point to the door, and yell “out!” when Jane finally relents. She isn’t happy, but Darcy doesn’t care. She’s here to help Erik, and as much as she loves Jane, Jane’s anxiety isn’t helping him. So she isn’t surprised when as soon as they hear the door click, Erik’s shoulders slump the tiniest bit in relief.

“How’ve you been, doc?” she asks when he looks at her.

“Did Jane call you?” It’s the first thing he’s said since she got here, and his voice is low and raspy with disuse.

She doesn’t bother lying to him. “Yes.”

“So you’re here to worry at me, too,” he says with a frown, but Darcy shakes her head.

“No. Jane loves you and she means well, but I’m here to keep her from smothering you in concern. Also, I like New York. Might be looking for a job.” That’s a lie, but it’s a relatively harmless one. 

His eyes are shadowed when he says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your graduation.”

“That’s alright.” She says with a small smile. “ You had your own things to deal with. And thank you for the card.” Because even after being mind-controlled by a Norse Alien God thing, Erik was compassionate enough to think of other people.

He shifts the mug from hand to hand in agitation, tea sloshing over the sides. He doesn’t seem to notice the hot liquid splashing on his fingers. “Do you know what I did?”

“I know what you were made to do.”

“Does it make a difference?” Her heart breaks a little, because before all of this, Erik would have been confident in the answer to that question. That crack is enough to let some of his darker emotions seep in and Darcy has to force herself to close it off. This isn’t the time for that, not yet.

“It makes all the difference.”

Erik is silent for a long while, and she thinks maybe it’s time to do what she does when he finally speaks again. “They all tell me it wasn’t my fault. Objectively, as a scientist, I know that.”

“But as a person, it doesn’t help any, does it?” she asks quietly.

His eyes are bleak as they look into hers. “No. Are you here to fix me?”

“You don’t need to be fixed,” she says firmly, covering his hand with hers and siphoning away a tiny bit of the negative emotion. “And I’m here as a friend. We don’t have to talk about things you don’t want to.” She pats his hand again, absorbing a little more of his hopelessness, shoving it down, gathering up her own little store of happy thoughts and sending it his way. She putters around his kitchen, looking for brownie ingredients, and draws information out of him as she bakes. Every once in a while she’ll brush against him, subtly drawing in his emotion, putting hers back in. She does this until she feels drawn and tired, but he looks better, and she reminds herself that’s why she she’s here. She puts a brownie in front of him and they chat about Culver.

“Thank you for coming, Darcy,” he says a few hours later. “I feel…better.”

“Must be the brownies,” Darcy says with a lightness she doesn’t feel. 

“And the company. Thank you.” He’s sitting up straighter, eyes brighter, the feeling radiating off of him is lighter than before. When she comes back tomorrow, she knows it will be bad again. What she’s done isn’t permanent. It’s just a dose of medicine, to mask the symptoms while his mind attempts to heal, but maybe he’ll actually sleep tonight. It’s a start.

—

Steve wanders into Dr. Banner’s lab, still thinking about his encounter with the girl on the street. For the first time in a long time he feels…good. It worries him because he knows it isn’t _real_. He knows what he feels—what he should be feeling, and this isn’t it. He searches for the grief and anger and guilt that’s been his shadow for months and he finds a ghost of it, flickering somewhere in the depths of his mind and he wants it back. Not because he likes how it feels, but because he knows it’s real _._

“That’s a very serious face you’re wearing, Captain.” Dr. Banner is looking at him, a faintly amused smile on his face that hides so much of what’s beneath the surface, and Steve wonders if anything like this has happened to him.

“Have you ever gone from feeling one thing to feeling the opposite in the blink of an eye?” Steve asks.

Dr. Banner raises a brow. “Mood swings?” A hint of concern tinges his voice, and Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s only gone one way so far. I went from feeling…bad to feeling better.”

“Drugs, Cap?”

“No. It was strange. I was walking back from lunch and there was this girl…”

“There always is,” Dr. Banner says with a small smile.

“No, she touched me and suddenly I felt…good.”

Dr. Banner smirks. “Well, see Cap, sometimes when a man finds a woman attractive…”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not that kind of good.” He struggles to find the words to explain it. “It was like she took out the bad and put in something better. I’m feeling good, but I know I’m not supposed to.” 

“Where did she touch you?” Dr. Banner asks, all business now. Steve holds up his hands for him to examine, and Dr. Banner pulls on his glasses as he looks more closely. “No sign of puncture marks anywhere. It could have been something topical. I could run some blood tests—“

“No. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Not yet anyway. Do you think it could have been her? That _she_ might have done it?” Steve doesn’t know why, but that’s the explanation that feels right. Whatever happened felt connected to _her_ and the moment her hands had tightened over his _._

“People can do a lot of things,” Dr. Banner says quietly. “I wouldn’t discount it.”

Steve nods thoughtfully, thinking of bright blue eyes and soft, warm hands clasping his. “Is she…do you think she’s someone we should worry about?”

Dr. Banner smiles again. “Ah, yes. A villain whose power is to fill people with happy thoughts.”

“You never know.” He decides to lay the question aside for now. The burden of his guilt, his anger, his grief…all of that is temporarily off of his shoulders. Instead of questioning why, he’ll let himself breathe for a while until it comes back. And it will come back. He feels the ghost of it strengthening, solidifying, but for now he’ll just let himself be a man, unburdened by history.

There are millions of people in this city; he wonders if he’ll ever see her again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to blackglass for beta'ing this! Any and all remaining mistakes are my stupid fault.

Darcy knocks on the door, and she takes it as an excellent sign when it’s Erik who answers instead of Jane. In the last couple of weeks, Jane has stopped hovering, confident in Darcy’s abilities to help Erik. So it’s great that Jane feels good enough about Erik’s state of mind that she let herself get caught up in her work. And there’s no doubt in Darcy’s mind that Jane has probably gotten caught up in her work.

“Hey!” Darcy says with a grin, holding up the grocery bags. She had to stop by the store and pick up ingredients for brownies because there’s nothing left at Jane’s. 

Erik seems to find the brownies—both the making or the eating of them—soothing. He helps her bake them now, taking a little bit of pleasure in measuring out ingredients, watching everything come together to make something new. Maybe it’s like it is for her—a stress-relieving activity that calms her down. Or maybe it’s scientific enough to engage the part of his brain that she’s sure is dying to go back to work, but removed enough from science itself that he doesn’t equate it to Loki and the things that Loki made him do. Or maybe she’s overthinking it and he just likes brownies. Either way, they bake them every day. She might not be able to eat chocolate for a year after this whole situation is resolved, but he likes the brownies and she’s happy to make them with him as she does her thing. 

Each day, the flavor of his emotions is different, a new cocktail of guilt and anger, sometimes tinged with relief or the incipient tendrils of acceptance. It’s good because it means he’s processing—at least, she hopes it means he’s processing. He’s not completely stagnating on the negative. It’s a step that she couldn’t have taken for him, and she’s glad that he’s doing it on his own.

“Hello, Darcy,” Erik says, and even manages a sort of smile today. Her mental walls are keeping Erik’s emotions at bay, and they’re stronger now that she’s had time to settle into being in the city, time to practice being out in the press of bodies. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough to get her through the day, enough so she can at least sometimes be alone in her head. It leaves her slightly less tired at the end of the day when she goes back to her hotel room.

She lifts those walls now, checks to see where Erik is emotionally. Sometime soon, she’ll start decreasing how much she does with Erik. For now, though, it seems like it’s a walnut brownie kind of day.

“I’m ready for chocolate,” he says, and she snorts.

“When _aren’t_ you ready for chocolate?”

She steps into the small apartment that seems lighter—even if only by a tiny bit—than it was two weeks ago. She heads into the kitchen and pulls ingredients out of bags, separating out ones they’ll need later. Erik, to her pleased surprise, puts the other things away. He looks more like the Erik she knew in New Mexico. He feels more like him, too.

That doesn’t make her any less uncomfortable when Erik asks her about how her job search is going. She’d almost forgotten that she’d told him she was thinking about moving to the city.

“It’s slow going.” It’s not a lie. Not really, anyway. She’s going really slowly about figuring out what to do, and that’s a huge part of the job hunt, right? But she doesn’t want him to worry about her. “I’ll figure something out, though.”

“Perhaps I could help you get a temporary job.” 

Darcy’s head pops up, but Erik isn’t looking at her. He’s staring at the bowl of brownie batter as he stirs. “And how can you do that?”

“After…well, after, Tony Stark offered me a job. At Stark Industries, with Jane. I’m thinking perhaps…perhaps soon I’ll take it.” His voice is hesitant, like he’s not entirely sure if that he wants to go back to work and he’s testing how the words feel on his tongue. She doesn’t have to open up her ability to taste the uncertainty in the air. Erik quickly hurries on. “They may be able to find something temporary for you, as well. If you’d like.”

For some inexplicable reason, Darcy feels tears stinging her eyes, her walls beginning to tremble as Erik’s emotions push up against it. She strives for calm indifference. “That’s—thank you. I’ll think about it.” Before he can ask any questions, she asks, “What would you be doing for Stark? If you take the job?”

“Doing my own research, helping to develop the interns.” The faintest trace of humor colors his voice when he says, “And this time they’ll all have science backgrounds.”

Darcy smiles faintly. “You always were a great teacher.” 

Erik snorts. “You never took any of my classes.”

“Still. I know.”

When she lowers her emotional barriers again, she can feel the contentment filling the air.

—

Steve’s walking back to his apartment in Stark Tower when he hears footsteps coming up behind him. He recognizes the cadence of it, the slightly erratic gait of Clint Barton with energy to burn. Barton wants to be heard, he knows, because otherwise there’d be no sound, even with his enhanced hearing. Steve pauses, waits for Barton to fall in step beside him.

“Did you hear?” Barton asks around a mouth full of brownie. 

That gives Steve pause. It seems like whenever Steve sees him, he’s got one in his hand or in his mouth. “How do you always have brownies?”

Barton shrugs. “One of Stark’s new lab monkeys always brings ‘em over. They’ve always got ‘em down at R&D.”

Steve furrows his brow. “You don’t belong to R&D.”

“Doesn’t keep me away from the brownies,” Barton says, then stuffs the rest of the treat into his mouth. “Anyway, when I was down there I heard—“

“Oh,” Steve interrupts, nodding sagely. “so you go down there to gossip.”

Barton is unamused. “I was gathering intelligence. But like I was saying I heard—”

Steve’s lips curve up in a slight smile. “Okay, so _now_ you’re gossiping.”

“Now I’m relaying information,” Barton says with a scowl. “Do you want to hear or not?”

Steve takes a moment to think about it. There are a number of things, he’s sure, that would work Barton up this much. Some of it maybe he doesn’t want to know. Actually, most of it he probably doesn’t want to know. But still… “What information are you relaying?”

“Back after—well, after,” Barton begins, his voice turning rough, slightly strained, “Stark offered Dr. Selvig a position at SI. He’s been saying no the past few months, but apparently now he’s ready to pull the trigger on it.”

“Okay,” Steve says, lofting a brow. Barton doesn’t say anything else, and it takes Steve a moment to read between the lines. “You’re concerned.”

“Yeah. Maybe it’s dumb, but I just gotta feeling—apparently he’s been asking around about a job for a friend of his. A young female friend, if you know what I mean.” Barton pauses, like he’s weighing what he’s going to say. Steve waits patiently for him to go on, to work through whatever it is he’s trying to process. “When you’re down like that, the way he is, the way I—anyway, it can be easy to be taken in by a pretty face and a good cover story. And he’s not trained like we are.”

“You worried this girl is trying to use him?”

“Yeah.” Barton wrinkles his brow. “Is that stupid?”

“No.” Steve pauses, considers for a moment because it is a valid concern. “We can drop in on him, see if everything’s on the level.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Cap.” Barton claps Steve on the back and hurries off. Steve watches him go. In a lot of ways, Barton and Selvig have it worse than he does. Sure, Steve’s still reeling from the emotional fallout of the last seventy-one years, but at least he knows that everything he’s done—every mistake, everything he’s done that’s hurt someone else, has been his choice and his choice alone. He doesn’t have to live with the burden of what an extraterrestrial god made them do.

Steve doesn’t know how Selvig’s been dealing with it, but he’s pretty sure Barton hasn’t had much success in working through what’s going on in his head. It’s tempting, very tempting, to offer Barton a card for his therapist. Dr. Cho’s a SHIELD guy, but Steve trusts him. Steve had assumed that anything and everything he said in that office would be privy to Director Fury, but Dr. Cho laughed and said, “There are few things Fury respects more than doctor/patient privilege. He sees the importance of it, knows that if none of the agents trust the doctors, none of them would ever come in.”

“Fury’s a patient, isn’t he?” Steve had asked dryly.

“That, I’m not at liberty to discuss,” Cho had said with a laugh. The exchange had made Steve infinitely more comfortable about the idea of a therapist, and even though he thought maybe he’d just go once and get it all of his chest, he found himself coming back. Mostly, it just feels like a conversation where Steve tries to wade through the morass of emotions that’s got a grip on him. It’s hard, talking about it to someone, but it’s good to tell someone about everyone, everything: Bucky, Peggy, the Commandos. It doesn’t make the anger and the grief go away—he doesn’t know if it’ll ever really leave him—but it makes it easier to function. They’re still there, still all-encompassing, but they’re less overwhelming.

And it’s all thanks to the girl. If there’s a day that’s gone by where she hasn’t at least flitted through his mind at some point, he can’t remember it. He does remember how she made him feel weeks ago, and even though he knows that wasn’t _real_ , the realization that he wanted to feel that way again—that he could try to feel that way again in a way that’s _not_ artificial, is what got him into therapy in the first place. 

He sends out a thanks to the universe, hoping maybe it’ll find her somewhere. 

That night, Barton is beside him, edgy in a way that makes the back of Steve’s neck prickle, and he fights the urge to snap at Barton to calm down.

“Can you handle this?” Steve finally asks, as they stop at Selvig’s door. When they left the tower, he thought that Barton was fine, but now he’s not so sure.

“I’m fine, Cap. I just gotta make sure he’s okay.” Barton takes a deep breath, shoulders relaxing as he releases it slowly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Because it’s important to him, Steve doesn’t press the issue. He rings the bell. A few moments later he hears a feminine voice, muffled through the door.

“I’ll get it, Erik!” the voice calls out. “Just make sure you don’t let those brownies burn.”

The door opens, and he’s hit with a pair of blue eyes, a flash of memory. Those eyes widen in recognition as she takes him in. “You,” she whispers.

He nods, mouth dry, questions swirling in his head at the sight of the girl he never expected to see again. “You. What did you do to me?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> katertots called me a honey badger once. Here's an example of why.
> 
> Thanks so much to katertots and inkandash for betaing this for me. Any remaining mistakes are my bad.
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone who I've shown this chapter to and who has given me feedback or cheered me on as I wrote. And finally, thanks to all of you for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. I absolutely appreciate it and you all are lovely.

Darcy can’t take her eyes off of him. Her heart skitters to a stop and everything freezes. Surprise, pleasure, fear—all of them bubble up as she stares at the Stranger, as she’s been calling him in her mind. Her eyes meet his; his emotions—an echo of hers—grab at her mind before she slams her mental barriers up, trying to protecting herself. She backs away, distancing herself from the emotions he’s projecting.

“What did you do to me?” the Stranger asks again. Darcy shakes her head, unable to answer, concentrating on keeping her emotions in check. “Tell me.”

Darcy finds her voice, even as she backs further into the room. The Stranger follows her into the apartment, and Darcy shrinks away from him. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I know you.” For the first time, she tears her gaze away from the Stranger, realizes that he’s got someone with him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there’s the faint prickle of recognition. She’s seen this hard-eyed man before, but she can’t concentrate on when or where when she’s trying to keep from drowning in the anger washing over her.

“What’s going on in here?” Erik demands as he rushes in from the kitchen, his concern adding to the emotions battering ather mind. 

The hard eyed manignores Erik as he stalks towards her. Wild fury lashes at her, and she flinches. “You were in New Mexico when the Thor thing went down. You working with Loki? Huh? You a spy for him?” 

The man grabs her wrist and her mental shields shatter.  With a cry, she falls to her knees. 

“Stop!” Erik shouts.

“Are you manipulating Selvig?” the man demands roughly. He snarls when she doesn’t answer. She can’t answer. “Are you?”

“Barton!” the Stranger barks, but that’s just background noise as she tries to think past the righteous rage beating down on her, the fear clawing at her insides, the self-loathing churning in her gut. Oh God, it hurts. 

“Let me go. Please!” she pleads, pride forgotten as she struggles to push him out of her head. 

“I don’t think so,” the hard-eyed man snaps. The anger and fear in the air spikes, and Darcy takes deep gulping breaths as tears prick at her eyes.

“Please,” she begs, pulling at her arm. “You’re hurting me!”

The man scoffs, fingers still gripping her wrist “Like I’m going to fall for that one, kid. I’m barely touching you.”

“Barton!” The Stranger strides towards them, the sharp spikes of his anger adding to the cacophony of emotions fighting for supremacy in her head. She bows her head in agony.

“Please!” she cries.

“Let her go, Barton.” The Stranger grabs her arm to pull her away from the other man and she can’t take anymore. There’s an excruciating explosion every emotion in her head, and then nothing.

—

The girl slumps over, unconscious, Steve curses and pushes Barton out of the way. 

“Dammit, I was barely touching her!” Steve ignores Barton and takes the girl in his arms, checks her vitals; her heartbeat is erratic, her breathing shallow.

“Darcy!” Selvig kneels on her other side and looks at Steve. “What did you do to her?”

“I swear, Cap, I didn’t do anything,” Barton growls. Steve can feel the vibrations of Barton’s agitated pacing, but he focuses on the girl. Darcy.

“She done this before, Selvig?” Steve asks urgently.

“ _Ingen_ , no, not that I’ve ever seen.” Selvig pats the girl on the cheek, panic in his voice escalating Steve’s own worry. “Darcy, _vakna_! Wake up! Darcy!”

She doesn’t stir, and Steve holds her protectively against his chest, standing and hurrying toward the door. Barton falls into step beside her. 

“Where are you taking her?” Selvig demands. Steve hesitates. He doesn’t trust SHIELD, not fully—Natasha and Barton are the only exceptions—and something in his head is screaming at him not to take her to a civilian hospital.

“Somewhere safe,” he says finally. He’s taking her home.

—

Home. Stark Tower. It’s strange to think of it that way, but it fits better than anything else has. And it’s somewhere he knows she’ll be safe. There’s a small infirmary on the R&D floors—always necessary with anything involving the name Stark--and he clears out a section of it for the girl. Darcy Lewis—he learned her name from Selvig. Perhaps Tony will get angry with him later for giving orders in his building while he’s away, but all Steve is concerned about is her welfare. He tells himself it’s because he wants to know what she did to him, if she did anything to Erik. Reluctantly, he puts her in one of the rooms with a surveillance camera. She could be a threat yet, and he can’t afford to let his guard down.

He spends more time in front of the video feedof the room than not. Something about her makes him feel protective, and he doesn’t want her to feel alone, even if she doesn’t know he’s there. She remained unconscious that whole first day, but Banner says it isn’t a physical problem. He says it’s like her mind just shut itself off for whatever reason. 

She wakes, panic fluttering over her expression. She doesn’t move, just watches the ceiling as Steve watches her. He calls Banner to let him know his patient is awake. Banner’s the only choice Steve could have made when it came to the girl’s care. Banner’s more in control these days and medicine isn’t his strongest suit, but he’d noticed the way she’d reacted to Barton’s obvious agitation. Whatever’s inside Banner, he’s got the gentleness that Steve’s sure Darcy will need when she wakes. He watches as Banner opens the door, holding his breath, hoping this is the right choice.

—

When Darcy’s eyes open, she doesn’t know where she is. She only knows she’s not in Erik’s apartment or her hotel room. She tries to think, but her mind feels vulnerable, raw, pulverized from what has to have been an overload of emotions. Violent ones, she’s sure. Her mental walls have been completely obliterated. That’s never happened before, but she tries to stay calm. She can’t rebuild if she’s not calm. Panic rushes through her on the heels of a terrifying thought: what if she can’t rebuild at all? She shakes that thought from her head. She can and she will. She has to before someone walks in.

She feels the newcomer before the door even opens, and she scrambles to shore up her defenses. Fear makes it impossible, and everything she builds crumbles just as quickly as she puts it up. The door opens. She’s assailed by a wave of a rage fueled by a raw fury of loss. It washes over her entire body. She feels it from her fingertips to her toes, and she arches off the bed in tormented agony. She screams, clutching her head in her hands like that will protect her from the onslaught.

“Stop!” she cries, scrambling out of the hospital bed and pushing herself into the corner of the room, as far away from the man in the door as possible. The man freezes in the doorway, and Darcy throws up every meager defense her mind can muster.  

“My name is Bruce. I’m not here to hurt you,” he finally says, taking a step forward. 

Darcy shakes her head and wraps her arms around her knees. She can’t help it; she starts rocking ever so slightly, focusing on the motion to clear her mind. “Don’t come any closer.” The command is whispered, desperate, and it makes Darcy feel pitiful.

Desolation spikes in the air, undercutting the anger, and Darcy bows her head. Silence is taut between them and all she can hear is herself, sucking in air between her clenched teeth. “You know what I am,” the man says after another long silence.

“No,” she whispers. She doesn’t know what he’s talking about—she doesn’t care, either. All she knows is that she needs him out of the room and out of her head. Without her mental defenses, he’s going to overwhelm her. “I know what you feel,” she whispers.

Stillness grips the room, where everything he feels swells in the air, making it hard to breathe as it envelops her.

“And what is it you think I feel?” he asks.

She shakes her head and curls up further into herself. “Too much.”

—

Steve wants to interfere at the first scream, but his mind started whirring, something important, elusive, in his head that he can’t quite grasp yet. He just knows that it has to do with this girl, and that if he goes in it will do more harm than good. So he waits, watches Darcy huddle away from Banner.

Banner walks out a few moments later, face pale, fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles are white. Steve can’t tell if that’s anger or something else. He watches Banner’s eyes, treads carefully when he approaches. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. She…” Banner hesitates, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe it. “She says she knows what I feel. She’s frightened of what I feel. How would she know what I feel?”

Steve stills, remembers warm hands in his, the burden of everything he felt seeping out of him. It’s another piece of that evasive something that’s demanding his attention. He doesn’t answer Banner. Instead he asks, “Do you feel any…different? Better, maybe?”

 “No,” Banner says with a shake of his head. Steve can see the realization dawn. “Is this—“

“Yes,” Steve says quietly.

Banner gathers himself, and Steve can almost see Banner shaking off the knowledge that for the first time, there is someone who knows the full extent of what’s inside of his head—and that she finds it terrifying. “Physically, she appears fine. If what—if what we think she can do is real, then everything is in her mind. I don’t know how to help her.”

Neither does Steve. He thanks Banner then heads back into the surveillance room to check the security feed. Darcy is still curled up in the corner. “JARVIS,” he says out loud, “is there a way I can talk to Miss Lewis without having to go to her room? I don’t see a phone.”

“Yes, Captain,” A moment later, JARVIS says, “You are now connected to Miss Lewis’ room. You may speak to her directly.”

“Darcy?” he says hesitantly, feeling more than a little foolish just talking to an empty room. On the screen, he sees her jump. 

“Are you God?” she asks, and it’s like she’s in the room with him. He can hear her attempt to infuse strength into her voice as she stares up at the ceiling, and the question startles a laugh out of him.

“Not God. Just a guy with the help of a really smart computer. My name is Steve. I was at Dr. Selvig’s apartment. I don’t know if you remember, but we’ve met once before.” 

“I remember,” she says quietly.

There are a million things he wants to ask her, but he asks the most important question now. There’s time for that later. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

He watches her on the screen as she stands on wobbly legs, runs a shaky hand through lush, dark hair. “Can you keep people away from me?”

“Yeah,” he says, even though he doesn’t understand—he just knows he has to help her. “I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google tells me that: _vakna_ is Swedish for "wake up" and Ink tells me _ingen_ is Swedish for "no."
> 
> Apologies to Swedish speakers if Google lied to me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...sorry for the lack of chapter updates! There's been a bunch of changes in my life so it's been harder to write. I won't make any promises about how often updates are going to come, but I'm going to try to keep working on it when I can.
> 
> Thanks so much to Britt for betaing this for me, to everyone who's looked at this along the way, and for everyone who's commented and kudo'd and stuck with this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

For the next twenty-four hours, he makes sure people stay clear of Darcy’s room, sending medical equipment and supplies down to an empty laboratory and directing all medical issues there. Steve doesn’t care that Tony isn’t too happy when gets wind of it. He sees Tony and another scientist—a tiny, agitated woman who Steve knows he recognizes but can’t quite place—hurrying towards the infirmary. He doesn’t know what Darcy does, exactly, but he knows he needs to keep them away from her.

Steve intercepts them before they can reach Darcy’s room.

“What have you done with Darcy?” the woman demands when Steve stops them from coming any closer. He doesn’t know what Darcy is dealing with, but he’s not taking any chances. “Erik told me someone had her. I want to see her.”

Steve shakes his head, blocking the way when she tries to dart around him. “You can’t. Not yet.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” She tries to duck under his arm, but he blocks her way again. He doesn’t even flinch when she kicks him in the shin.

He stands firm. “I can’t let you see her.”

“Tony, do something about this,” the woman demands. 

“We’ll deal with your friend later,” Tony says in irritation. He glares at Steve. Steve glares right back. “What I want to know is what you think you’re doing giving orders around my building, Rogers.”

“A situation came up,” Steve says, refusing to go into detail. “I’m dealing with it.”

Tony lofts an eyebrow and peers around Steve, as if he could actually see Darcy through the wall. “And is the situation that girl you’ve got trapped in the med bay? Because I gotta tell you, locking up a lady is not the way to her heart.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Shut it, Tony.”

“Except I’m pretty sure this is my building. I make the rules.” Tony pauses to think about this for a moment. “Okay, Pepper’s in charge, but I can make rules, too. I’m going to see to our…guest.”

“I’m going with you,” the woman says staunchly, looking ready to barrel over anyone and everything in her way..

Tony frowns at the woman at his side. “Foster, I told you to wait downstairs.” 

“And I told you where you could shove it,” the woman says, scowling up at him. For a moment, Steve thinks that maybe this woman’s gonna kick Tony, too, but she doesn’t, turning the weight of her glare back on Steve.  

Tony cocks a brow. “Move, Cap.”

Steve draws himself up to his full height, but it doesn’t intimidate either one of the people in front of him. “Don’t touch her, Tony.”

“Really, Cap? I’ve got Pepper.”

“I mean it. I don’t know how it works, but when you touch her, she can feel whatever it is you’re feeling. Sometimes it overwhelms her. So don’t.”

It’s a testament to all the things that Tony has seen and done that he accepts Steve’s explanation without batting an eyelash.“Whoa there, Capsicle,” Tony says taking a step back. “I don’t need anyone else in my head. I just want my building back to normal.” 

“What are you talking about?” the woman demands. Foster. Dr. Foster. He recognizes the name from the file he’s been studying.

Steve turns to look at her. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what she can do. All she’d say was that a friend called her to help Selvig. I read the file on New Mexico—“

“Look, at you, breaking the rules—“ Tony interjects, clasping Steve on the shoulder. 

Steve shrugs him off, intent on the woman in front of him. “You’re the only connection between the two of them. You _know_ she can do…something. That’s why you called her.”

She shakes her head and tosses her hair defiantly.. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I want to see her.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you do that.” The woman crosses her arms mutinously, chin tilted up stubbornly. Steve knows she isn’t going to go quietly. He makes a quick decision and leads them into the room where he’s been watching over Darcy. On screen, she’s curled up in the hospital bed, eyes closed, but he knows she’s awake. “JARVIS, connect me to Miss Lewis’s room.”

“Now you’re giving my AI orders, too?” Tony demands, but Steve ignores him.

“Darcy, someone wants to talk to you. It’s—” He pauses, realizing he doesn’t know the woman’s name.

“Jane,” she interjects. “Darcy, it’s Jane.” Darcy sits up, and her eyes open.

“Jane,” she says, and her tone is pleased, weary, nervous all at the same time. “How’s Erik?”  

Steve only stays in the room long enough to make sure that Darcy’s okay talking to Jane, and then he pulls Tony outside to give the ladies some privacy.

“You know what you’re doing, Captain?”

“No,” Steve answers baldly. “Just doing what I have to. That gonna be a problem?”

“It is if you keep hoarding my infirmary.” Steve knows Tony is right. He can’t inconvenience the entire building just for her, and he tries to think of where he might be able to keep her that’s safe. Tony solves the problem for him. “There’s a block of unoccupied rooms on the residential levels. You can move her there when people have gone home.”

When Tony turns to walk away, Steve calls after him. “Tony. Thank you.”

Tony looks over his shoulder and smirks. “Oh, I’m not doing this for you. I just want my infirmary back.” 

——

The conversation with Jane is exhausting, even through the computer. Thankfully, Jane’s anxiety can’t touch Darcy over the airwaves, but she can _hear_ it, and it rubs against her already raw nerves. It’s not Jane’s fault, but she peppers Darcy with questions about what Captain America meant exactly when he said Darcy could feel other peoples’ emotions, and just how did she end up at Stark Tower anyway? Darcy deflects as best she can, but she’s eminently grateful when she hears Captain America’s voice over the speakers telling Jane that Darcy needs to rest.

She lies back down on the infirmary bed and closes her eyes. It’s not that she’s unappreciative, because she’s thankful that Jane wants to look out for her. But Darcy is drained and her head aches. She can only handle so much. Even a day later, her own emotions are still intermingled with those of the last two men she encountered and it’s all she can do to keep from spiraling out of control.

Steve’s voice comes over the intercom. “Sorry if I was overstepping,” he says sheepishly.

“No,” Darcy says, smiling up at the ceiling. “I appreciate it.” His voice is comforting, soothing, and it helps her to push down some of her own wilder emotions—mostly the fear and the panic that have been ever-present since her collapse, and she can breathe again. For the last day, ever since that man—Bruce—had run out of the room, Steve has been a kind of lifeline, a connection to the human world. Other than Jane, he’s the only one she’s talked to. It’s comforting, really, to have found that when she speaks, he’s been there. She can’t count on it forever, but she appreciates it in the now.

“How are you feeling?”” he asks.

“I’m…feeling.” And Darcy wishes she wasn’t. She turns onto her side, trying to sort the different threads of emotions out in her head. Barton. Bruce. Her own. It’s an exhausting process, but it makes her feel better to know for sure which emotions are hers. She yawns widely as she tries to parse the three different strains of anger swimming around her head.

“You should rest,” Steve says when Darcy yawns again. “We need to move you into a different room tonight. It’ll be better for you there. No one will go near that area without JARVIS warning you, and you’ll be able to walk around at least a little bit more. I’ll try my best to find someone who won’t hurt you.”

“Is that possible?” Darcy asks bitterly. There’s another emotion that Darcy shares with Bruce and Barton, but she looks for the thread that’s hers, clings to that because there’s nothing else to hold on to.

“I don’t know. But I’ll find a way.”

He sounds so determined that Darcy’s tempted to believe him. It’s her last thought before she finally lets tiredness overtake her.

——

Darcy isn’t sure what time it is when she opens her eyes again. She’s the only one in her head for the moment, but she doesn’t know how long that will last. It’s been over twenty-four hours since her encounter with Bruce, longer since blacking out with Barton, but her head is still raw, and she can’t tell if the ache is physical or mental. She’s never flamed out like this before, let alone twice in…well, she thinks it’s a day. Maybe she should ask Steve. 

“Steve?” she asks tentatively as she gets up from the cot, hoping that he’s still there. When there’s no answer, her heart plummets. Surprisingly potent disappointment fills her before she can, will it away. It triggers bursts of anger, grief, fear, all her own, thank goodness. But it sends her reeling back so she has to lie down again. She tries to think it away. There’s no reason she should be disappointed. After all, why should she expect Steve to be there whenever she calls? He’s got a life of his own and he can’t be expected to take care of the freaky feelings girl. Maybe he was helping her because she helped him once. Debt repaid, sayanora sister. 

Yeah, that thought doesn’t help at all, actually.

She concentrates instead on what to do next. She’s not ready to go out into the real world and interact with real humans, so she can’t leave. Well, she supposes she _can_ leave, but she doesn’t want to. Not yet. Not like this. She remembers Steve saying that there’s a different room for her. Maybe she can find that on her own. That seems as good a plan as any. Yes. She’ll find her new room. If there’s actually a room waiting for her.

Having some kind of plan of action helps to clear her head, and she sits up again. She remembers Steve mentioning an AI named Jarvis. Maybe…

“Jarvis?” she calls out. If she looks like an idiot talking to herself, well at least there isn’t anybody around.

A starchily British voice answers. “Yes, Miss Lewis?” It doesn’t surprise her that Jarvis, what or whoever he is, knows her name. After Thor, not much surprises her these days. Well, Barton surprised her so maybe that’s not an entirely true statement after all.

“Steve mentioned a room. Could you help me find it?”

“Certainly, Miss. I—“ 

“Darcy?” Steve’s voice cuts in, and she tells herself it’s not relief that fills her. Of course, she knows the nuances of pretty much every emotion out there, so even she knows she’s lying to herself. 

“Steve?”

“JARVIS told me you were looking for me. Sorry about that, I was meeting with someone about getting you to your new place. I’m sending someone in to you, okay?”

She takes a deep breath and tries not to be scared. It’ll only make whatever’s coming worse. “Okay.”

“If it’s too much…if you can’t handle her, let me know, okay?”

She nods and forces a smile. “Okay.”

“She’s coming in now.” Darcy closes her eyes and fights the urge to cower, like she did when she felt Bruce coming. She’s strong enough to handle this. She’s under control. Taking a deep breath, she prepares for the onslaught. The doors open, and she feels—nothing. Darcy’s eyes snap open to make sure that someone is actually there.

There is. A gorgeous red-headed woman in a catsuit walks in slowly, cautiously walks into the room. Even with the soft smile, there’s no mistaking that she is someone to be reckoned with. Darcy wonders half hysterically whether Steve’s plan is to have this woman knock her out if Darcy can’t deal with it. With each step she takes, Darcy expects to feel something, anything coming off of her. But all she gets is…nothing.

“Hello, Darcy,” the woman says when she stands in front of Darcy. Darcy’s shields are still down. She knows they are. She should be able to feel something from this woman. “My name is Natasha.”

WIthout thinking, Darcy reaches up and touches the woman’s hand, keenly aware that she’s only able to because this woman—Natasha—lets her. And still, even with skin-to-skin contact, Darcy’s head is blessedly blank. 

“Have you discovered what you needed to?” Natasha asks, lofting a brow.

“Why can’t I feel you?” Darcy blurts out. The only other person she hadn’t able to feel was Thor, and he was an alien. Did that mean—? “Are you human?”

“Yes,” she says with an expression that’s less a smile and more…regretful? Wistful? Darcy has a hard time trying to figure it out. “When you have done the things that I have done…it can be difficult. To feel. You learn how to close yourself off.”

“So you don’t ever feel?”

Natasha smiles, soft, sad, and Darcy can finally get a read, just barely, on the emotions going through this woman’s head. “I do. But Steve told me what happened with Dr. Banner. I thought it might be best to come to you this way. Now,” she says briskly, signaling a close to that avenue of conversation, “are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Follow me.” Darcy hops off the cot and follows the woman out of the room. The corridors are silent and empty. Under most circumstances, she’d find it creepy. Right now she’s grateful. Natasha doesn’t chatter as she leads the way to an elevator, as they shoot up nineteen floors, and to a room at the end of the corridor. The whole way, Darcy has to restrain herself from reaching over and touching Natasha. 

“This will be your room. You’re alone on the whole floor, actually” Natasha says as she opens the door. “Can you handle that?”

Darcy nods, and her mouth gapes as she takes in the room; it’s is spacious and sparsely furnished. Two walls are taken up by floor-to-ceiling windows that display fully lit skyscrapers and lights from the city below. It almost gives the impression of being outside, and Darcy doesn’t feel quite so closed in. “Feel free to use anything you find in here. It’s stocked with food. I’d be wary of the books, though. Stark sent them down, and his taste is…questionable at best.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Darcy says with a small smile. This place is better than anything she was hoping for, even if it is temporary.

Natasha smirks and walks over to a screen sitting on the kitchen counter. “If you need anything, just ask JARVIS. You can reach him through this or you can just speak to the room. Steve and I are also programmed in here if you need to reach either of us.”

Darcy nods, thankful that she’s not completely cut off from people. “Thank you.”

Natasha leaves Darcy alone then. Resisting the urge to call Steve, Darcy sits down on the couch and closes her eyes as she tries to figure out how to put herself back together.


End file.
